Columbine Blue by Dryope

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Chapter 1

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Soft boots crept noiselessly through the woods, pausing occasionally to consider the noises of the forest; the cracking of a branch or the hooting of an owl could be nothing more than what they seemed, or they could be much more. Caution was paramount lest the invaders capture one of them. So far their camp at Tarn Aeluin was secure, but that would only last as long as they all took care when hunting.

 

Breeches snagged on a blackberry bush, and he yanked them free impatiently. Were he scouting for food he would have stopped to pick some, but he had a different mission, and no basket to contain them with.

 

They sang a duet together as they picked blackberries beneath the  bright green needles of the larch trees; the song was an old Elven tune that some said had been taught to Bëor by Finrod. Neither he nor she had voices to match those of the bards, but that was of little concern to either of them.

 

“Close your eyes,” She demanded, and he paused, turning to look at her. A dark braid was wrapped around her head, blue eyes bright with affection. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

 

He dutifully did as she requested. He could hear the rustling of her skirts as she drew closer, and the sound of soft shoes on grass, and he could sense as her shadow fell across his face, and then the sweet flavor of blackberries burst on his tongue.

 

He opened his eyes, chewing silently before offering her his hand.  “We cannot eat all the berries before we return!” He chided with a laugh.

 

She accepted his hand and tugged him closer to her. “Not all!” She answered pertly. “I only fed you one. Although if you’d like to try to eat them all….”

 

He paused on the outskirts of the forest, bending down to examine the trampled undergrowth. Old tracks, these.

 

Disappointing.

 

The lack of recent tracks, however, meant that an excursion into the village was safe.

 

Not all of the village had survived intact; the blacksmith’s home was only a charred shell now, and even the homes that had escaped unscathed had walls blackened from smoke. But the hedgerow of crabapple trees still separated the village from the forest, albeit with a few less trees than when he had last visited.

 

He stepped through the hedgerow, pink petals showering down as branches shook at his movement.

Although there were no more gardeners to cultivate them, flowers blossomed carelessly, trailing up the sides of houses and poking out of broken thatch roofs. Brown fingers bent down to pluck a handful of blue columbines from their bed.

 

Dark hair spilled across white shoulders as she leaned against him. He took comfort in her closeness while his fingers knotted the flowers into a crown.

 

“They’re the same color as your eyes,” He smiled, holding the columbine crown towards her.

 

She bent her neck, and he placed the crown upon her hair.

 

“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful maiden.”

 

A smile flitted across her face and she leaned forward to kiss him.

 

He allowed the flowers to slip from his fingers. What use had he of flowers with her gone?

 

Gone. Gone! He knew not whither. There had been few clues to what had happened to those who remained behind, although his companions had their fears. But he refused to consider the possibility that his Eilinel was gone not just from Dorthonion, but from all of Middle Earth.

 

He prayed daily that she and the others had fled before the orcs had descended, that she was somewhere safe. He would find and follow her trail, if only he knew where to begin.

 

His hope of finding some clue as to her whereabouts was why he continued to return to the village. Some scrap of knowledge, a hidden note, a message scraped under the table….he would have accepted the smallest hint.

 

But no matter how many times he scoured their home he found nothing.

 

Dagnir slapped Gorlim’s shoulder affectionately. “Not a bad house, eh?”

 

Gorlim squeezed Eilinel’s hand gently as the newlywed couple surveyed the modest house the men of Dorthonion had built. It had taken most of the spring, but now it was ready for the pair to make their life there together.

 

“Let us plant columbines out front, love,” He suggested.

 

Eilinel pressed her body against his, both her white hands clasped in his dark ones. “I’m sure your father would spare some from his garden.”

 

Angrim boomed laughter at that. “There are always columbines to spare for you, daughter.”

 

Gorlim felt a thrill of delight at his father calling Eilinel daughter; this was the day he had dreamed of ever since he and Eilinel had first fallen in love. A place of their own, with enough space for both gardening and for boisterous children.

 

He looked down into her blue eyes, unable to stop smiling, and she smiled in return.

 

The home was exactly as he had found it when he and his companions had returned from war. The door lay in splinters at the threshold and the windows had been smashed in. The walls showed the damage from smoke, damage not from the ceramic oven in the kitchen but from the fires the invaders had lit throughout the village. The thatch roof was gone, disintegrated entirely, the only remnants now ash beneath his feet.

 

The wooden bedroom furniture that Dagnir had so carefully carved for the happy couple were charred lumps, and there was no sign of the little chair where Eilinel had sat beside the window to peer into the garden nor of the ginger kitten she had taken in after it’s mother had kicked it out of the litter for being a runt.

 

But the ceramic oven was still there, unharmed, and outside in the remains of the garden he had found a ribbon she had once worn in her hair. Now, two years later, the flowers had begun to grow again, spreading across their original boundaries now that there was nobody to tend to them.

 

They had gone down to the stream to gather small rocks for bordering their garden. Gorlim had packed their lunch: fresh loaves of bread Eilinel had baked that morning, and cucumbers from his garden, and butter Eilinel’s mother had churned for them, and honey from the beehive Radhruin kept.

 

“We should ask your mother for one of her chickens,” Eilinel mused as she lay on the bank, one pale finger trailing in the cool water.

 

Gorlim considered this request while he chewed his bread. Only after he had swallowed did he say, “I do not doubt she would be willing.”

 

Eilinel fell silent at that, mouth pursed and dark eyebrows furrowed. “Do you know what else we need?” She asked after a moment.

 

Gorlim shook his head in reply.

 

“This!” She scooped water up with her hand, flinging it at her husband.

 

“Ah!” Gorlim shouted, throwing up an arm across his face too late. “Now that’s hardly fair!”

 

Eilinel’s only response was to splash him again, laughing with delight.

 

“You shan’t get away with that!” He warned, rolling over so that he, too, could reach the clear water of the stream. He flicked water at her, and she wrinkled her nose as it splashed across her face, but her smile never faltered.

 

Despite his fervent prayers there were no changes to the house. No clues awaited him.

 

Of course there would be no clues; it had been two years since his return. Two years since Barahir had lead them to Tarn Aeluin, outlaws in their own land.

 

They had fought beside the Elves, fought until almost everyone had died. He had seen his father fall, pierced by cruel spear. He had seen those he had played with as a boy fall beneath swords and arrows. His friends, his companions, all torn away from him.

 

He had hoped that at the least he could return to his wife, lay his head on her shoulder and heal his grief through her comforting touch.

 

But she had gone.

 

Everyone had gone.

 

So few of them were left, and for what? To hound the orcs who haunted their former home. No comforts of home would be his again, no warm embraces, no songs. Even food he took no pleasure in.

 

The fragrance of flowers was the same as when he had lived here, this house was the place he had called home.

 

His heart clenched at the memories before he inhaled deeply, shaking away thoughts of her and of him and of the children they had both hoped to have

 

One day he and Eilinel would be reunited; until then he would continue to return.